How To Deal With The After Effects of Drinking
by vezrio
Summary: Antonio just wants to spend his 25th birthday in peace. Gilbert and Francis have other plans. What does this bring? Trouble. The trio wakes up confused, Arthur is depressed over an unrequited love, Alfred ruins his engagement, Ludwig doesn't know why he's on a plane to Italy, Feliciano is in love and all Lovino gets is a broken leg. Previously known as Living Life Like a Movie
1. Cheers To Being 25

**My first Hetalia fanfic, a fandom that I've loved since... I dunno**

**I didn't really think that I'd be doing one seeing as I mainly just love reading fanfics myself and I'm a shy being and all hahaha. So anyway, I'm not used to this yet so sorry if the characters are kinda OOC. Especially France. I have no idea how to portray him, seriously. So I kinda need help with him. And all the other things that I suck at. Yeah.**

**Oh and this is actually gonna be a parody of every movie, book, song or whatever object that comes into my mind and I'll try to connect and make it into one big plot. So anyway, multichapter, with multiple pairings, cursing and some colorful words used, plus dry humor. Expect slow updates too. Constructive criticisms are welcome**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and it's characters and all the things I based this on does not belong to me.**

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When Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had been jumped on by his two _best-fucking-friends-since-birth _in front of his apartment on his 25th birthday, he knew he'd be in deep trouble. In totally deep trouble.

Because first of all, no sane person really rings the doorbell ten times in rapid succession at 6:00 am in the morning, accompanied by loud blasts of an air horn of all things. Antonio knew at once who he was going to face and he knew he'd be buried under a mountain of complaints from his neighbors later on too. Either way, his guests, for once, wouldn't be his grumpy landlord who never, in Antonio's stay, smiled at him. Not once, he could swear to that. Today's guests would be his best friends, either the loud, carefree, German albino named Gilbert Beilschmidt, or the calm yet, slightly eccentric French named Francis Bonnefoy. Or of course, it could have been both, which was not very surprising at all in the Spaniard's case. True to his suspicions, upon opening the door, Antonio was greeted by two grinning men, or to be specific, only one grinning man and another, looking extremely irritated.

"Gilbert, what kind of asshole brings an air horn of all things and blows it at 6 am?" Francis, whose French accent had grown much heavier due to irritation (not that it wasn't already. The Frenchman took great pride in his accent). With a strict shake of his head, he decided not to wait for the answer of his German companion and focused his eyes on the Spaniard standing in front of him, who sported a small, uneasy smile. "Antonio!" both men exclaimed. "Happy birthday you tiny tanned son of a bitch!" came Gilbert's greeting, as loud as his air horn, to which Antonio replied with a soft hey and a wave. Oh yes, this really meant trouble.

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Both Francis and Gilbert seemed excited enough when the Spaniard ushered them inside his apartment. Suddenly, Antonio felt quite embarrassed at not cleaning his apartment even for a little bit, but since the two were his best friends, and quite possibly his brothers, separated from birth, the feeling quickly vanished into thin air. The three made their way in, wading across a sea of term papers, medical books, notes, other college-related trash, numerous cups of instant noodles and bottles of energy drinks and a crate of tomatoes in one corner (to which Francis wouldn't ask about). There was barely any room for the three to settle down and it took about 20 minutes before they were able to clear out a spot for them to sit on. Normally, it would have taken Antonio an hour before he would be able to clear a space, but with all thanks to Gilbert's strong throwing arm, the pile of trash that was close to the corner of the room continued to grow into a mountain as more trash was hurled into the pile by the albino.

"Sorry about all this junk guys. Really busy these past few weeks." Antonio said pushing away the last of the papers piled up on the floor. Both of his friends merely gave him a nod and pushed away the remains of half eaten instant spaghetti, which they assumed was the Spaniard's breakfast for the day. Francis, the ever gourmet, frowned in disgust, while Gilbert mainly just whistled, looking over at the messy apartment, staying quiet for a while. This gave Antonio enough time to assess his best friends, which he had not seen for nearly three years.

To Antonio, Francis and Gilbert were just as he had remembered. The last time they saw each other were Christmas three years ago, and the two didn't change much, except for the addition of facial hair on Francis' face, making him look like a true big brother in the Spaniard's eyes. He had been growing it since he turned 18, but it only became much visible now. Francis still kept the same shoulder-length blonde hair, refusing to cut it short. His blue eyes still had the soft yet knowing spark in them. He was the eldest among the three of them and he had always tried to look like the eldest. Before, it had not really worked, as he had always been overshadowed by Gilbert, and at some point in time, almost by Antonio. But looking at Francis now, he had the look perfect for the role of an older brother. True enough, the French had been proud of this, especially when the time came that it wasn't just the teenage girls who were attracted to him, but also older women, who worked in offices and corporations. Although Antonio had never seen his friend with an older woman before, it couldn't be impossible to see him with one as he knew Francis wasn't that picky with his object of affections, despite the abundance in choices. Of course, that's just one of the many perks of having a sophisticated and elegant charm, as Francis would put it himself.

Shifting his gaze to the side, Antonio's eyes landed on his German friend. Gilbert didn't change at all. Same old, silvery white hair or it could have been pure white or platinum, or greyish, Antonio still couldn't decide. It was still chopped sloppily and carelessly, asymmetrical, but somehow, it looked good on the German, many had agreed. Not that Gilbert really cared about it, he just went with what he had, be it bed hair or a perfectly gelled in place, work-of-art hair. Why didn't he care? Simple: It always went back to being sloppy. His red eyes gleamed with the same childish mischievousness that he had as a child, having failed to outgrow it as the years passed and they aged older. Despite them being red, at some angles, one would have mistaken it for a reddish violet, going blue. It was an interesting thing that made girls stare at the German and Antonio admitted that he, sometimes, still did as well. Gilbert had repeatedly argued that his eyes were normal, maybe a bit heterochromatic as much as he it was a product of albinism, but they definitely were normal, in his standards. Antonio had long given up on trying to understand Gilbert's definition of normal, but then again, he himself had a different definition of that word. A grin was plastered on the German's face, showing off his pearly white teeth. Not that Gilbert would admit to it, but he diligently brushes them to white perfection, being the neat-freak he secretly was. It was one of the many little traits that Gilbert shared with his younger brother Ludwig, who always seemed to be the complete opposite of Gilbert. However, people like Antonio know for a fact that those two are very much alike.

"So!" Gilbert finally started, sitting straight up with excitement dripping from his voice. The sudden outburst pulled Antonio from his observation, finding the German with his feet on the coffee table, crushing a few of Antonio's important papers. Or maybe they weren't that important. Having been so tired and stressed for weeks, Antonio couldn't bring himself to care about anything college related anymore.

"Y'know what today is? Today's your 25th birthday and we are going to get all that fun shit started for you right now! Tonight, Toni, my man, we're going to go—"

"H-Hold on Gil." Antonio said, quickly cutting the German off. "Okay so first off, it's so nice of you guys to come over and plan all this… stuff but I can't go out tonight. I've got this interview that I'm currently slaving on and preparing for. You know how it is mi amigos." Antonio explained, gesturing wildly all over his messed up apartment, a sudden desperate look flashing on his usually cheerful face.

Francis nodded his head and sighed. "Ah, I totally get it, it's okay. I was like that two months ago." He reassured, but the German beside him had not been entirely agreeing, as a displeased look replaced his grin. "That's funny co'z I don't get it." He snorted and merely waved it off.

"Look, can't we just go out tomorrow night AFTER my interview, because this is like, my whole life in one interview. This is medical school we're talking about. I should have done this back when I was 21 but—" Antonio flailed his hands up in the air in sudden panic but Gilbert took no notice of it."

"First off, you're ONLY 25. You should have done it at 21? Dude, what are you? Asian? And second... wait, you're not really Asian, right?" Gilbert looked at his friend sceptically, which Antonio answered with a firm frown, a cross of his arms and slight shake of his head. "Okay... so. And second! No, we cannot go out tomorrow night because I've set this awesome shit and this is going down. You're a straight A student so you should have more faith in yourself and Antonio, this isn't just any birthday, this is THE birthday, your 25th birthday!" In an instant, Gilbert was already on his feet, pacing back and forth around any space that didn't have any trace of paper or trash around. "Mon dieu, here we go..." Francis muttered, dropping his head and looking at Antonio apologetically. Once Gilbert had started, there was no stopping him.

"Today, you become a man!" the German continued.

"I was already a man on my 21st birthday."

"This is the day when you get to tell every bouncer who ever stopped you that 'okay, I get it, I may look like a 9-year-old Chinese girl—'" Both Francis and Antonio suddenly sat straight up and looked at each other with furrowed eyebrows.

"What the fu—" Francis continued to mutter. "Do I really look like a 9-year-old Chinese girl?" Antonio asked in a whisper, leaning closer to Francis, who merely gave the Spaniard a disbelieving look, before running a hand through his golden locks. Still, despite that, the two found themselves still listening to Gilbert's little dramatic speech. For some reason, despite the albino rambling on and on about useless things, his speeches were still entertaining, making wild gestures and even wilder analogies that made no sense at all.

"—But guess what, today is your 25th fucking birthday, so you could just tell him to step aside and let the man through." Gilbert finished, baring his canines ferociously like a wild dog threatening someone. Still somehow managing a small smile, Antonio shook his head. "This is a secret rite of passage. If we were in Africa, you'd have to leave the village till you kill a bear!"

"Um… I don't think that's true." Francis muttered.

"There're no bears in Africa?

"Guys, I don't think that's the point." Antonio sighed. Francis wasn't really helping Gilbert drop the subject. Not that there was anything the French could do to convince the German. Antonio had begun to wonder why he even tried to argue in the first place, knowing the albino's stubbornness. All that stress must have made him forget about that part of Gilbert's personality.

"You know, it's like when Eskimos kill their first penguin!" Gilbert exclaimed again, silencing Antonio's thoughts. "Again, I don't think that's true Gil. Seriously, read a book. And what's up with you and killing animals? Animals should also be given love and care and love! I wouldn't be surprised if one of these days you get in trouble with the animal rights groups." Francis said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sofa he sat on.

"Anyway, the point is, birthday boy, in this country, your awesome best friends take you out to fuck you with alcohol! We're gonna fuck you with alcohol!" Gilbert suddenly banged his fists on the coffee table in front of the Spaniard, causing him to jolt backward in surprise. "Ugh you have not been listening to Toni have you? And that doesn't sound really great. You make it sound so awkward." Francis rubbed his temples in annoyance, something Antonio could sympathize with.

"Gil, mi amigo, all those things that you mentioned, I've been doing since I was 21. What's the point of doing all that and announcing that I'm a man when I've been one for four years now?"

"You've killed a bear and a penguin? Daaamn, Toni. You should get arrested for that! This is why bears and penguins are gonna be extinct in a few years? Where are those animal rights groups?" Gilbert looked horrified and all Francis could do was stifle a laugh as he slumped back in his seat.

"Anyway, mein guter Freund, 25 is actually the real age where you really enjoy yourself! People say you get to be a man at 21 but they don't start looking at you like one till you're 25! Plus life gets harder after 25 so you should celebrate as hard as you can man! Y'know, enjoy all the awesome shit and be awesome like yours truly! You got an awesome excuse! You're 25! And besides, if we don't do this tonight, I'll do this all night!" Gilbert immediately pulls out the air horn and quickly sent Antonio's neighbours banging on his front door after three loud blows.

"Ay Dios mio! Okay, okay! Just stop it with the honking! I'll get kicked out if you don't stop! Just promise me that I'll just be having one drink. Just one, okay?" Antonio asked, looking somewhat desperate, eyes fleeting over to Francis for reassurance. Francis, however, wasn't too sure of it himself, so he mainly just shook his head apologetically before turning towards Gilbert, who had his trademark grin on his face again.

"Ja, ja, sure. Just one beer. Just one. Nothing's gonna happen to you tonight Toni. Francis and I'll take care of you. You're our little baby." He chuckled. "But y'know what, it's still early, so we got tons of time to prepare for this awesome night, eh?"

Despite what Gilbert had said, Antonio had a bad feeling in his stomach that he couldn't brush off. It wasn't that he didn't trust Gilbert, of course. It's just that although he might not get drunk that night with just one drink, he couldn't say the same for Gilbert. After all, his German friend was probably the heaviest drinker he'd ever seen in his entire life. And that thought didn't really help soothe his fears though. Oh well. It's just one drink. For being 25.

However, a few hours from now, Antonio would be wishing that he shouldn't have come, or better yet, he shouldn't have answered the door when they nearly crushed his doorbell and he should've just jump out of the window of his apartment, despite his unit being on the third floor of the building. At least all he would be getting is a broken arm or a broken leg instead of a hell load of trouble. Could've been 25 and over.


	2. Engagement and Marriages Suck

**Hiyooo~ I decided to rethink about this and all and I thought, maybe I shouldn't really do a real parody of anything and everything under the sun like the first chapter because first and foremost, I feel too lazy to do any rereading or rewatching to get material and second, if I try to combine all the parodies I come up with it gets confusing. So! I decided to loosely base the events on random stuff that I pick up or something. I'll be using references from time to time so keep a look out on that. Anyway, I still can't do Francis and that's kinda bad seeing as he's gonna be one of them major characters here ugh. Well, have fun reading anyway.**

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**Chapter 2: Engagement and Marriages Suck (Just ask the Brit and the German)**

Arthur Kirkland suddenly felt that he was in deep trouble the moment he woke up with a throbbing headache. He knew he got himself into so much more than that. Why? Because there was this gut feeling that told him so. That churning feeling in one's stomach that tells that person he's screwed and he's done something that he'll regret till the last of his days, that's what. Only, this time, he doesn't know what he's done and that doesn't help at all. That feeling wasn't at all a good combination with his headache. Add that to the fact that he was slowly entering into a state of panic every time he slowly wakes up and his eyes truly sees and his mind registers where he is.

He wasn't in his room. Nope, he certainly isn't looking at his punk poster-covered walls. His stack of books, the superhero figurines that his best friend gave him and his shiny electric guitar that always stood by his bed was missing. Heck, he was even sure that this massive, king-sized bed wasn't his, because as far as he remembers, he was sharing a bunk bed with his younger brother Peter. Even the little urchin wasn't there, screaming at him, for which he was thankful for because he swore, if anyone were to scream at him right now, with his horrible headache, he'd punch them hard right in the face. But if he wasn't in his room, where was he?

Arthur looked around him. The room was big, that's for sure. And messy. And smelled of piss and alcohol, which only made his headache worse and made him want to vomit. All kinds of things were strewn in the room. Tons of papers and confetti, broken glass, alcohol bottles, left over fast food, toys, phones thrown around the room and a chicken clucking in the corner. Heck, there was even half of a marble statue lying below Arthur's bed. The Brit had to think for a moment. Where was he and what was he doing in a dump place like this? To be fair, it wasn't really a dump place. In fact, the room, without the mess cluttered around, looked somehow classy and sophisticated. White walls surprisingly clean of vandalism, high-class furniture that Arthur only saw in television and dared not touch and mess up even further.

He sat up on the bed and rubbed his temples in frustration. Thinking only worsened his headache even more and he thought that was already impossible. But he had to think. What did he do last night? It took him a while before he realized that his memory of most of the night was, if not completely blank, fuzzy.

All he could remember from last night was that he went out with his best friend and object of unrequited affections for the last 15 years, Alfred F. Jones in celebration of him finally, getting engaged to his girlfriend of five months, Natalya Arlovskaya, a beautiful Belarusian lady, who, Arthur would say, was one of the strangest persons he'd far as he could remember, they went out to eat at some fancy restaurant, a tradition they had been doing every time one of them had really good news to tell. No matter how busy each of their schedules are, they never failed to set a time for this tradition; dressing up formally and going to a fancy restaurant, preferably one with a good view, and have dinner together. Or simply going to each other's houses to dine over home cooked meals (although Alfred really does prefer eating out because, although he's used to it by now, Arthur's cooking was one of the most lethal things in the world, according to the American). Last night, however, after their dinner, they had agreed to go visit a bar since it was still early and that's where Arthur's memory started going haywire. He couldn't remember anything after his third glass of ale. Which is weird, not because he forgot, but because he even got to drinking three glasses. Normally he'd only drink one or half a glass because of his almost non-existent tolerance of alcohol, but of course, with the news of Alfred engaged, that certainly devastated the Brit despite his best efforts of trying to be happy for his best friend and the feeling of devastation was slowly coming back to him the more he tried to remember.

Shaking his head to forget even before he could start crying and feeling even sorrier for himself for not even going so much as to confess to Alfred, he made himself inch towards the side of the bed and get up. First, he had to clean himself. He smelled so much of alcohol that he swore it would get him drunk again. Then, he had to find Alfred, figure out where they were and go home to his apartment and lock himself up in his room and cry there, no matter how childish it may sound for a 23 year-old to cry. Then he'd pull himself up together after crying and finishing a box of tea because he had a wedding to organize and he's not gonna trash it, because one, that's his best friend's wedding and two, Arthur Kirkland is not one to do things half-heartedly.

As he stood up and tried to make his way out of the room, he immediately tripped over something and fell on the floor face first. Suppressing the flow of colourful words threatening to stream out of his mouth, Arthur pushed himself up to get a better look at the bloody thing carelessly littered on the ground, only to yelp loudly in surprise.

"Bloody hell! What do you think you're doing here, you frog?" Arthur screamed, backing away from Francis, who was sprawled on the floor, his eyes only starting to open. A strong kick on the jaw managed to jolt the Frenchman fully awake, although he didn't seem to be grateful of the method of awakening.

"And good morning to you too dear. Such a sophisticated greeting, don't you say?" Francis groaned, pushing himself out of the floor and sitting up, rubbing his face. "God, you owe me everything you and your ugly caterpillar eyebrows have to offer if you break my gorgeous face."

Arthur glared at the Frenchman and mimicked a gagging action, which immediately had him suppressing his urge to really vomit. Francis snickered and looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. "Tch. I asked you a question." Arthur finally exclaimed. "You're not stalking me again are you? Are you? Because if you are, I am seriously going to bring this to the po—"

"Sshh. You talk too much mon cher" Francis said, placing a finger on Arthur's lips to silence him, which smelled of semen, alcohol, money and other disgusting odours Arthur could think of. Sporting a horrified look and feeling even more under the weather than he already was, Arthur quickly pushed Francis' hand away, and turned away, wondering how much longer he could hold in his bile. Suddenly feeling tired and worn out, Arthur lied down on the floor with a groan.

"God, you disgusting wanker, can you not touch me so casually? I've had enough of you spreading your... your... whatever damn thing it is you caught that made you such a git, on to me. Ugh, please." He tried to cover his eyes, hoping that if he did, somehow, it would make the French disappear and maybe he'd wake up and realize that maybe this was all just a dream. This hangover, the fact that Alfred is getting married, or the fact that he and Francis are even friends. And Arthur didn't know which of those he'd listed was the worst.

"Okay, Arthur." Francis finally said, slurring the Brit's name as if he was still drunk. "The answer to your question is, I simply happen to be with Toni and Gil for Toni's 25th birthday. No such thing as following you. Why you think I'd do that, is beyond me." He sighed, getting up.

"Why? Because you're Francis, that's why. Is there any more need of other reasons?" Arthur managed to spare Francis a glance, and he sighed of relief (something he didn't even realize he was holding) when he noticed that he and the French were miraculously still fully clothed. Arthur's image of the French had been a perverted, constantly horny man who'd do anything to get laid. Years of being friends with Francis somehow gave him that idea. Although, for the Brit, how he had managed to become friends with Francis was the bigger question.

For one, he couldn't remember meeting Francis for the first time. They've been friends and neighbours since they were toddlers and Arthur often saw the French around, something he wasn't really grateful for. Somehow, they got along sometimes, and Arthur often confided in Francis, seeing as Francis was three years older than him, however, it was also a fact that Arthur simply could not get along with Francis' two other friends as the Brit had a noticeably short fuse in dealing with the German and the Spaniard. He couldn't be blamed either, as Arthur was often the recipient of the trio's endless pranks and jokes which often ended up in brawls, trips to the guidance councillor's office or having the so-dreaded parent-child talk. Anyway, Arthur never enjoyed it. He was all too thankful for Alfred coming into his life and pulling him away from the troublesome trio (although Alfred could be just as annoying, but significantly more bearable, in his opinion).

"I don't see those two bastards anywhere." Arthur growled, causing Francis to look at him, confused. He looked around, hoping to find a trace of brown and silver hair around. Finding no trace of any of the said people, he shrugged.

"We're in a room. They should be just outside." He said, turning to exit the room. Arthur watched as the French wrinkled his nose in disgust at seeing the things scattered around, careful not to step on anything unsightly littered along the way. It proved significantly harder when the room wasn't any different from Antonio's apartment. Or this could have been worse, truthfully. As far as the Frenchman could remember, there were no chicken droppings, used condoms, littered lingerie in Antonio's room. It didn't take long for Arthur to get up and start walking as well, only he headed over to the bathroom to wash himself and the sick taste forming in his mouth.

This is why he hated drinking. He'd never say it aloud, but he could hardly hold his alcohol and his hangovers were terrible. It was more than just the dizzy, throbbing headache. For Arthur, it was like losing his head a thousand times over. His stomach does flips worse than when Alfred hangs around with him and he immediately feels the need to throw up all the food he ate for the last two days, leaving him feeling malnourished or something.

Stumbling to the sink, Arthur held on to it like his life depended on it. He pushed himself up to make himself look at the mirror and grunted at how seriously hammered he looked. His straw blonde hair looked wilder than usual, his usually stunning green eyes looked pale and half-dead, and so did the rest of his face, as the usual pinkish tint in his cheeks were missing.

"God what did I do last night?" he groaned, turning on the tap and splashing his face with cold water. He'd give anything to have a hot shower right now. Or maybe a cold one, whatever is there. He could take one at that time, but he didn't feel comfortable with the thought of taking a refreshing shower then changing back into his clothes, which he wore the night before. He wasn't even sure if they had been previously soiled or not.

He stood there for a few more minutes before deciding that nothing was going to change and this wasn't a dream. Certainly not for the last time, Arthur groaned loudly and slammed his hands on the sink in frustration of not being able to remember anything, so hard that it almost fell off of its placement.

"Hey! Could you keep it down? Awesome is sleeping here, yeah?" a gruff voice suddenly called from the bath tub and Arthur found himself looking at Gilbert's fiery, red eyes. With a huff, he pulled on the bathroom curtains and settled back down to continue his interrupted sleep. Arthur did nothing but stare the albino as he gritted his teeth in irritation, watching as Gilbert tried to snuggle in the bath tub once again.

It took a while before Gilbert realized that Arthur had been staring. Maybe it was also because the Brit had been clearing his throat for the past five minutes continuously and Gilbert only checked to see if Arthur hadn't actually been choking himself that time. The German looked up and met Arthur's strangely dead eyes and winked, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Am I that sexy or what? You've been staring, love." Gilbert purred, smiling victoriously to himself as he watched the Brit's face heat up and flush red in embarrassment. It was always easy to tease the Brit.

"Oh shut it." Arthur growled and turned away, walking towards the door. But not before throwing a huge bar of soap at Gilbert, which hit him squarely on the head.

"Ow! You know one of these days, you're so going to fall for my awesome charms, I'm telling you." Gilbert grunted, raising his hand to rub his head as he watched the Brit smirk at him. "Ugh you sound just like Francis, it's disgusting but yes, do keep waiting. Maybe in the next life I'll—when did you get married?" Arthur squinted, frowning at Gilbert.

"Married? Hah! Married life isn't for me. Maybe for Francis or Antonio, but no one can tie the great and awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt down, y'know that!"

"Yes, maybe. But I don't see a wedding ring on their fingers and I can see one on you."

Arthur emphasized the word 'you' as he pointed to the German's hand. He watched as the said German started hyperventilating as he brought down his hand to look at the glimmering wedding ring that sat on his right hand's ring finger and he couldn't help but laugh.


End file.
